y.u.p

when piero and i were discussing our life-to-be-in-sydney , we came up with a phrase: young, urban, professional. that was who we wanted to be. we would use these three words to dictate purchasing decisions and to make lifestyle choices.

12-months-ago, when we were looking for a flat to rent, a friend was helping us. we told him about our mantra and he gave us ‘that’ look. in fairness, i understand how people might be reading this and are also mentally giving us a similar look, but 12-months on, our mantra has worked.

i’ve seen enough friends move back to australia to know what i wanted. 

i want to be successful, i want to be part of the beating heart of the city and i want a life that an older version of me will look back on and think ‘that was a life well-lived’.

part of our grand sydney plan was to buy a flat. in the end, it came down to two real possibilities. the sensible one and the one  young-urban-professional one. we stayed true to our mantra and are now the proud owners of our very own darlinghurst flat-of-dreams (down under)*.

now all we’ve got to do is furnish it in y.u.p style! piero... are you getting a bonus this year???

*flat-of-dreams (down under) is a trade mark of the fod franchise.

no more drama... just some fun memories

a group of us took the eurostar to paris one saturday night. we thought it was one of those fabulous-because-we-were-young-and-in-london moments. we wandered the streets of pigalle looking for a club and stumbled across les folies pigalle: a former theatre now decorated like a 30s bordello. it wasn’t the paris that i was expecting, but the best travel is rarely expected.

the place was heaving with 20-to-30-something frenchies, tourists, repressed people who go outrageous on the weekend and a huge number of drag queens and transvestites. there was an upstairs area that overlooked the dance floor which was pumping out your typical dancey-rnb-pop-funky-house mix.

and there were the most bizarre stage shows. a young woman came out and stripped to her underwear and a man did the same. an older woman – probably the age i am now as i write this – came out and stripped all the way and i remember thinking that she must have gone all the way to make up for the fact that she was the older, less pretty one.

and then the main show started. half-way through, cynthia leaned over to me and said ‘it reminds me of aerobics oz style’. a large drag queen dressed in lycra whirled around the stage as mary j bilge belted out no more drama from the speakers. the drag queen and her boyfriend then had an o-t-t argument complete with american-reality-tv-style hand movements before a policeman came and arrested him. for some reason, a nun was then on the stage holding a crucifix which the drag queen grabbed and held above her head as she closed her eyes and mouthed no more drama.

the night ended with us in a random cafe trying to stay awake as we waited for the morning return train to london.

sorry for the ramble. i felt the need to share this as the lycra-crucifix-drag-queen imagery is once again dancing around my head as mary j blige’s no more drama is playing in the background.